


(what a lovely way to) burn

by SecretReyloTrash (BadOldWest)



Series: fever-verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Lot Of Pregnancy/Fertility Mentions, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Exploration, Body Swap, But First Kylo Offers Like a Gentleman to Feel Her Pain For Her, Crack Premise Then Make It Sad, Dirty Talk, F/M, Feeling Each Other’s Pain Through The Force, Fever-Verse, First Time, Force Bond, Hair Pulling, He Has To Be The Girl, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Kylo Ren Finally Loses His Virginity But There’s A Catch, Kylo in Rey’s Body, Literal Role Reversal, Menstruation, Period Sex, Rey Smugly Piloting a 6’3 Brick Shithouse Like The Millenium Falcon, Rey in Kylo’s Body, Reylo Week 2019, ReyloWeek2019, Role Reversal, Rough Sex, Smut, Swapping Bodies to Fuck, Virginity Loss, empathetic connection, gender bend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:31:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadOldWest/pseuds/SecretReyloTrash
Summary: It’s her body: he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do with it. He lays back in bed with his eyes closed instead of responding, a small shake of his head in answer when she cracks her voice in attempt to ask again.The plan seems to be to lie back and take it until it’s over.There’s a sympathetic croon at his side, but it doesn’t sound like her; it sounds like literal self-pity, and his chest-Rey’s freckled, unbound chest-flushes.body-swapping





	(what a lovely way to) burn

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This work is a sequel to a sickfic I did in the Fall of 2018: Part 1 of this series called (fever) started long ago. You won’t have to have read it for context for this story: but the things from it you do need to know are that 1. Kylo and Rey have an empathetic connection through the force bond that makes them feel each other’s pain 2. Rey went to Kylo through the bond when his flu symptoms were affecting her ability to function and 3. Kylo drops the juicy tidbit that he can feel Rey’s menstrual cramps when they happen, blah blah blah some naked cuddling, they almost kiss but Rey severs the bond before it happens.
> 
> Some logistical blocking for the body-swap part: Kylo enters Rey’s body, Rey enters Kylo’s body. They speak in each other’s voice, their own voices don’t carry over. I try to stick to their specific canon pronouns, but there are moment where they’re described like they are puppeting each other, so Rey will lift “his” hand more to specify what body is moving because the transition is explicitly temporary. If it’s confusing, it’s kind of on purpose, because this explores gender in a very traditional, binary way to get to the most extreme narrative out of it (i.e Kylo experiences a period and a loss of virginity as a woman in Rey’s body). So there’s a lot of implications I would love explored in the comments: however I do feel strongly about reminding people that this is a vehicle for smut first and foremost.

_ The sensation is familiar enough to recognize but unknown enough to fill her with dread. Cramps steadily invade her stomach the minute she opens her eyes with a deadly sweep, with sleep the only thing keeping them at bay. Even waking, she knows why she even stirred at such an hour is directly because of the pain, and she groans as she curls into herself on the mattress.  _

_ Knee to groin is radiating with fevered skin; her belly coiling like a mass of live snakes. _

_ There was nothing else to do with this pain but to lie there and take it. _

_ And then it’s gone.  _

Because Kylo Ren opens his own eyes, in his own bed, with only the lingering memory of the sharp agony rattling around inside his own body. 

Not his body. 

_ Hers.  _

He’s felt the intensity of her cramps as a phantom ache in himself before, especially when the walls between them were surpassed by sleep, but this is entirely new. 

This feels like his own guts were going to claw their way out of the core of him. It’s as though it bubbles under the skin, lurking and sinister: a malevolent, wet feeling unlike anything he’s ever experienced. 

He’d taken a pilgrimage to Mustafar, to his grandfather’s castle there, not long after leaving the Jedi, and the pain gurgles and spits under his skin like the unsettled surface of magma. It is just as hot too. And like the magma, he finds himself drawn to its flush, pressing against the bond instead of pulling away, letting it heat his skin like a soothing fire.

Until it pierces him too sharply for getting close. 

_ I can feel you. Get out.  _

He wipes a hand over his sweaty face, glad to escape it to start his day, not envying the way those cramps had made the scavenger groan helplessly.

But he can’t soften his thoughts of her for long. 

That in itself is a different kind of ache. 

 

* * *

 

At night, it’s bad. 

It’s  _ unbearable.  _

She must have fallen asleep, or was so miserable she didn’t care how much he saw of her, because he slips right into that ache in an instant through the bond and it has him clenching his hand up in a fist against his sheets. 

It’s agony secondhand. He cannot even imagine how she feels experiencing it in reality--

He doesn’t like suffering through her pain without her. If he must feel it, then so be it. But enough of this angry ignorance of this side of things. Pretending they're not connected anymore.

He can stomach it no longer.

With a rough push of the force, he swipes aside the veil between them, and she appears in her own bed across the dark space of his room. 

He steps out of his bed, pulling on a pair of loose pants because she will strike him if he forces this upon her while he's also naked, and then looks down on her sleeping form out of her pitiful Resistance bunk. 

He acts instinctually, as though she just left his bed after the fever they shared mere moments ago, pulling her back into the haze she abandoned. He scoops her out of the bed. The ratty sheets. The atmospheric noises of a shared domicile. 

She’s easy in his arms when she’s asleep. He’s known that for longer than just this moment.

Her abandoned breastband from her last visit was not incinerated when she left it behind in his quarters. Shamefully, he kept it, as a sign that she was even there at all.

He can’t see the room he carries her out of: but the bed leaves much to be desired.

Her sleepy head rolls onto his shoulder. 

He’d offered her a much nicer bed. This bed.  _ His.  _

She’d sneered at it. Hadn’t wanted it. Left it.

And still he is laying her down in it now. The horrid bunk no longer corporeal, needless and so invisible now that she is entangled in his sheets once more. 

She stirs in his arms when he slides in beside her under the covers, his hand rubbing circles on the most pained part of her belly. 

He knows.

He knows, because it was the same pain in his own belly. Clenched up miserably.

Rey flails an arm and tries to roll over, to wrestle, but only with the strength of a tooka cat. A tame one, at that.

He collects her hand in his so it will do no harm. 

“It’s only me,” he informs her as her eyes barely flutter open to take in the new surroundings. Not so new; since they’d sweated out that fever together in this same bed a few months ago.

It seems like the only right thing to say as he steals her from her own bed.

They go narrow and distrusting, slitted, and then flutter shut as her brow smoothes. Accepting it. 

She growls sleepily, curling back into his nest of blankets. 

“You smell good,” he tries, his nose creeping to nuzzle her hair. He feels needier, strange and vulnerable and aching, and she snorts knowingly. 

He parks his brow in the crook of her shoulder. 

“Stop that. This isn’t anything new.”

“I didn’t get to--” that sounds too leering “--I _wasn’t able_ to smell anything the last time we did this.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m only staying because my back really hurts,” she warns in a dangerous tone. 

He crawls his fingers slowly up her spine. She tenses, then relaxes, into the touch. But that’s more from the mattress.  _ Perfection, _ her mind sighs to herself. A good night’s rest in a soft bed.

_ This is enough.  _

“I know,” he concedes, curling up behind her, because he feels it too, just as sharply as the pain. 

 

* * *

 

 

They both wake up to a sensation like a knife in the gut. 

“Stars,” he curses, his face twisting in agony, “did you take anything for this?”

She’s got arms crossed over her belly, her knees at her chest. He has noticed one of her coping mechanisms is folding herself in half as much as possible. 

She looks like she can’t even breathe.

“Painkillers for cramps...low priority when there’s a war going on, don’t you think?”

Powerful words for a woman in so much pain. A martyr Jedi, his enemy was proving to be. There would be campfire tales of her ferocious battle with menstrual cramps for ages to come.

He absently strokes her hair, she tries to shrug him off but her pain is her only occupant, and he’s much more occupied with hers. 

It is clear that something lingers from the sleep, from the nakedness, they shared during their joined fever. He had expected all to go back to normal: but there was something that passed between them then that remained true now.

It hurt him to see her hurt. It brought him no joy. They did not, could not, turn their malice into a desire to wish pain on the other. 

To see the other suffering only created more. 

He tries to remain cool to this realization anyway.

“Is this you telling me how thin resources are for you pathetic rebels?”

“Not a chance,” she growls, “but this is hardly a bowcaster shot.”

“Low blow,” he grunts. 

He just listens to her shallow breathing for a few minutes. Both of them sweaty and cramping and miserable. 

Together. 

Then he reaches for her, curiously putting a hand on her belly. Instinctively; without feeling it himself first, he’d never know how much that part of her would hurt when involving a woman’s…cycle. 

But he does know now. His thumb digs into her lower belly, above the waistband of her sleeping pants, and traces a slow couple of circles. She groans, her expressiveness always winning out, her free-flowing emotions riding the tide of his inquisitive gesture. 

“Is it...always like this?”

He knows little of these cycles. Already has had his fill from the flutters of pain she’s gifted him through their bond.

Rey stares at his ceiling, her chest rising and falling. He continues to rub her belly with a warm hand.

Her brow furrows. What stretches across her face is a sadness so open and sad he feels his own eyes water.

“I don’t know what’s normal. I didn’t start getting them until recently. Jakku...it ravages the body. It’s not a place for life. I didn’t have my first until after I met you.”

This stings worse than physical pain. Her malnourished body. A body that craved family that could not create life yet. Not that Jakku was the place for it. But he’d be lying to admit he didn’t think of the tentative smile she gave him in the burning throne room and picture his child attached to that warm skin, feeding from a pink nipple, in a vision that hurt too badly to summon any way but accidentally. 

“Hmm.”

He closes his eyes. 

_ “‘Hmm,’ _ what?” she snaps, defensive.

Her emotions are certainly more tumultuous. He tries not to laugh; not wanting to prod that new sensitivity. 

“Getting you ready to make some younglings,” he muses, “to crush me once and for all? Bit of a desperate plan. But long-term. I appreciate the strategy.”

“Crush me  _ now _ ,” she counters, shifting her hips in discomfort, “you’d be doing me a favor.”

He rolls over to get out of bed: her talk of murder is all show, she doesn’t even crack one eye open to see if he fetches his weapon. 

“I’ll call for something for the pain-”

“No,” she sits up.

They finally lock eyes for the first time since they almost kissed. 

“Food then,” he surrenders, fetching something from a small stash he keeps around...when he doesn’t feel like even letting a droid in his room. The store is ravaged; for those feelings are increasingly common lately. 

He feels the same bite in her blood. Rey wants something sweet.

His selection isa piece of rare fruit he knows she'd never get on a Rebel base. She watches him un-peel it and sit beside her on the bed.

“Wasn’t your grandfather brought down by his own children?”

He raises his eyebrows at her.

“Are you suggesting we…?”

She takes a feral bite instead of answering. Pulp litters her freckled cheeks. 

_ “ _ _ ‘m not pregnant, anyways,” _ she murmurs, “should be obvious from all the blood coming out of me.”

He watches her stuff her face, and his own biting need for the sugar of it fades as she’s satisfied.

“Sweet enough?” he questions as she chews. 

She looks up at him dubiously. Surprised he can sense her tastes.

He sighs. 

“Cravings too,” he informs her, “all of it.”

She groans. 

A slice of fear cracks through him, uncensored, that someday she will have a family of her own and be happy and the bond will crack between them strong enough for him to feel a baby’s kick against his own ribs.

He swallows. His brain has never been shy about tormenting him with thoughts like that. The baby of the traitor, maybe? Of Dameron? He’d seen the way she smiles at him in glimpses--

Rey’s own lip wobbles, tears in her eyes. She stares at the sheets and tilts her head to hide that her face is flushed red and embarrassed.

“Even if it feels bad: I’d like to at least feel it for myself.”

He sighs, and gets up and fills a canteen with hot water. She watches him with a furrowed brow until he returns and presses it to her belly.

“My guess is what you’re feeling is worse? You’re just too tired to uphold the bond?”

She glares at him, “Forgive me for not making this easier  _ for you-” _

He lifts his eyes to hers, their faces close enough to feel each other’s breath. Proximity isn’t hard, it’s the connection between their eyes. 

“Is this helping,” he cradles the improvised hot water bottle against her stomach.

She sighs, holding it steady with her own hands. Their fingers entangle when he tries to draw them away.

He’s thinking of the cramps in her belly. The baby foot, maybe someday, kicking him too.

The idea is too insane. But he just wants to help. He  _ hates _ seeing her like this.

“I have,” he wets his lips in a moment of careful pause, “a temporary solution, but I’ve never tried it before.”

“Really winning me over,” she grunts, adorably irritable. 

She’s left the fruit half-eaten on his sheets. Juice puddles out into the fine material. Kylo picks it up before it stains.

He guides the treat back up to her mouth and all but forces her to take another bite. She glares at him, still chewing. 

“I could...occupy your body, for a short while. And you mine.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. Even distracted by pain, there is no softening her reaction to this offer. 

“Through the force?”

He nods. “It’s possible.”

“Are you going to...trap me somewhere?”

He brushes her sweaty hair off of her brow. 

“I am just as vulnerable as you, and you wouldn’t be  _ trapped.” _

“You’d...feel my cramps for me?”

She sounds so surprised. Too surprised to laugh or be horrified. He twitches under her scrutiny: she thinks him  _ cute… _

“You would take the pain? You’d bear it for me?”

Kylo already is.

He looks down at her hands, which are creeping over the covers towards him. They inch forward until they  _ just _ touch.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

They open the bond so fully, that even if they start in the same room, they don’t end up in it together. It’s impossible to describe where they are. Because there only is each other. Her tide rises, and his pulls back, and the high and the low swirl and shift until suddenly he feels burrowed in an opposite side and she feels just as far away again.

The air leaving his lungs feel more restricted. Heavier.

Breasts weigh his ribs down. Not in the weight itself, he has more mass than the Jedi, but the distribution is different, the way they rest softer, the shivery sensation of being aware of them and their sensitivity make his breaths carefully contain themselves inside. So it doesn’t rise and fall and over stimulate him.

He stares at his ceiling. Feeling...small. 

And then the mattress dips as a massive body curls towards him.

He flinches at the weight of his arms around the much smaller waist he now inhabits. There’s a confused grunt against his shoulder. 

It finally hits him they must have been asleep a while.

“Rey?”

Rey’s name and her voice fill the room even though he’s the one who has spoken.

He feels so strange he doesn’t notice the cramping ache until his own face hovers in front of his eyes. 

_ Her eyes.  _

And he can’t marvel for a second more until the wave of another cramp hits.

_ “Oh,” _ her voice comes out of him again. When he’d longed, before, to make her moan: this was not exactly what he had in mind.

This is much worse in her body. He already sees lightness in her  _ -his- _ features. Blinking stupidly as if freed.

“Kylo?” his own voice drifts back to him; but he doesn’t speak.

They both twitch, buzzing under their skin, at the newness of it all. He turns to see her, moving in his body in a way so different to how he moves now in hers that he has to believe it is not just a mirror image. She is tensing his legs, his muscles, in the area that is hurting as though relieved from it. 

There’s a slightly pleased smile on her  _ -liberated to be in his- _ lips.

He rests her head back on the pillows. It aches in her body. Everything is so sensitive. He has effectively taken her misery into himself but it’s made him miserable. 

Did he think he would just have a stronger stomach for it? The pain is debilitating, and he’s so stunned by how much it feels like his insides has ruptured that he really must not have been taking it seriously until they switched. 

“You can--” his voice fills the room and falters. They both start at how odd it is that Rey is using his voice. And the voice through the bond is still hers despite this, “--you can...call for a droid now, if you like. For something for the pain.”

He looks down at the abdomen that is so agonizing to possess. It’s hers. The muscles jumping and chording, the skin flushing, all of it. 

It’s her body: he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do with it. He lays back in bed with his eyes closed instead of responding, a small shake of his head in answer when she cracks her voice in attempt to ask again. He feels it: jumpy, vulnerable. In his body, she could blithely call for his arrest and he'd be hauled off and imprisoned as this scavenger. He has to trust her not to. 

Like she had to trust him the last time. 

It's an odd feeling. So he denies himself the med droid. 

The plan seems to be to lie back and take it until it’s over. 

There’s a sympathetic croon at his side, but it doesn’t sound like  _ her; _ it sounds like literal self-pity, and his chest  _ -Rey’s freckled, unbound chest- _ flushes. 

“Sometimes,” he sees his own tongue dart out and wet his lips as she speaks, “it helps to...you know...rub your tummy.”

He arches her back. Her breasts were covered to him: but unbound as they are he can feel their tenderness with every small move. It would be sensual to know, to caress, as an outsider. In this context these sensations are oppressive to him. Overwhelming. And Rey blinks at him in his masculine form with almost a smugness for what she’s inflicted upon him. 

This is dreadful.

He nods and the big hand settles under the hem of the shirt he’s wearing. She touches him confidently because it is, in all frankness, her body. He’s just borrowing it.

“What do you need, Kylo?” and to hear his own voice ask himself that has tears pricking his eyes. 

Hormones, she’s overcome him with these damned hormones. He’d claim sabotage if she didn’t possess them every month for the past year: sharp enough for him to feel across the bond. To come to know. To trust. 

And he can’t resist the sensuality that pours from his lips when he finally uses her lips to speak:

“Hold me.”

Her voice is softer when he uses it, but airier, like a balloon floating away because he doesn’t know how to hold it down. It’s so fragile it almost breaks. 

She wraps her arms around his waist and spoons behind him. He’s never felt this. So small, curled into a large body and protected. Maybe he has, but it hasn’t been since childhood. He can’t summon a memory, only the lingering familiarity of the senses she’s giving him. The warmth. The safety.

He had never wondered what it felt like to possess a cunt; at least in this way. But given the chance, he wonders what a different context it would have made for had he not been in such a state in this body. Maybe curious exploration. But this makes him aware of what’s between his legs in a shameful way: he feels the hollow inside and the pulsing of the shedding organs--

“Rose -my friend- once crept up to me in the Mess and whispered  _ ‘it feels like my uterus is trying to army-crawl its way out of my body’ _ ’ Rey whispers in his ear, a laugh filling Kylo’s deep voice. 

He can’t help it: the body he inhabits is smaller and flowing with more hormones and in pain.

Rey is still behind him, silent in a way that makes him feel all the more vulnerable. The arms around him tighten. She always fights him so well: but the body of Kylo Ren only makes him feel small and hopeless now as Rey shushes him and kisses the slender neck that chords with his sobs.

 

* * *

 

 

They wake up at a fresh wave of pain. Kylo is quite done with this experiment. Rey is making no offers to switch back just yet.

She does stroke her fingers clumsily through his hair. But it's little comfort for his misery. All these lustful visions of what he'd do with her uterus and now he really has her uterus. 

“There is one thing, Rose also told me…”

Every time he tries to turn, he sees his own scar, something he’s avoided in the mirror ever since she gave it to him. It makes him feel sick to see her expressions cause it to shift over his skin. A mockery, almost, that she takes the deformed face she gave him.

“...that might help.”

“I’ll do anything.”

It’s her voice, but he uses it differently. Lower, his words always push out of himself like a heavy breath. She’s certainly more airy, prone to rest her tones in high places and carry them with her emotions instead of exhaling them out directly.

“Maybe we start slow with this….”

He lets a breath leave her body. Rey is very comfortable holding it: after all it is hers. She manages to bring him to her broad chest and sighs against him. Then she lifts the hem of his shirt. Her body: her shirt? Either way, he’s the one feeling breasts get exposed to the cool air. It prickles with stimulated nerves. He whines. It’s all really sensitive. 

“....if you want to try.”

He’s not attracted now; it’s his own body reaching for him. Brushing Rey’s bare breast so Kylo is the one that can feel it. 

It feels good. 

His eyes flutter shut. 

But he’s uncomfortable despite the pleasure. This is too unusual. 

“Kylo,” his own voice caresses his ear. It feels odd to hear his name in his own voice said in comfort.  _ Wrong.  _

The way the mouth purses is distinctly Rey. The insecurity on the face written in the brows, not in the subtle draw of the mouth. 

It’s all her in him. 

Still, he hardly wants to kiss  _ himself.  _

A soft sound escapes his lips when she circles a nipple with big, clumsy fingers. Her sound. He’s in  _ her _ body after all. The body being caressed by hands that were once his, are still his, that he can’t control or even know the feelings of. 

Kylo Ren gets to touch Rey’s breasts: but it’s Rey doing the touching to him. It’s like a mirror. He sees himself reach and only feels the hand. 

It’s a specific type of torture: all the things he’d inflict on her inflicted instead on himself. 

He rolls to face her. And it’s him. Too large and too strange-looking and the  _ scar-- _

“I like your body,” Rey raises his eyebrow with a smug grin, “I like what I can do with it.”

A big hand fists itself in the hair at his scalp: thinner and brown instead of what he’s used to. It’s a completely different sensation. His hair is too wild and thick to be brought into one handful subjected to a sharp tug. Rey’s hair, with him now attached to it, with nerves at the roots he is fully attached to, twists around a fist into an easily-manipulated leash. 

If only he had his body back now.  _ If only. _ He’d drag her around by that hair for all sorts of purposes. 

Instead, he is prey to her tugging on him with a firm hand, a knot wrapped around the giant fingers, as making use of his strength is still clumsy for her. 

He struggles for a minute. Is she testing him? Is an abuse of her body an abuse of her: so he should fight it?

Rey yanks on him again with a predatory smile. Stilling his head, causing muscles to chord in Rey’s slender neck as he swallows.

Kylo looks up into his own eyes; his own mouth twisted in a smugness of unexpected power that is purely Rey. 

_ “Sand rat,” _ he hears his voice drawl at him. 

He feels something, a wetness, more creeping and rippling than the expelling of a bloody clot from between those thighs he’s been trying to get used to. There’s muscles he’s never even thought of tensing inside this body.  

And this,  _ this _ is when it begins to click: to see himself enacting his fantasy, to be the viewer of it, to be the vessel to receive it. He is too domineering to watch Kylo Ren fuck this female body, even if it is the body he wants the most. 

He inhabits it, but not the way he wants. Sexual paradox becomes too complicated for him to initiate.

But his own voice, his own power, wielded if for a moment by another--

_ “Oh.” _

Rey drops him back so he bounces onto the mattress. This body is much lighter, softer, and the aftershocks steal his breath. 

_ “What?”  _ Her voice is dry when he uses it.

“You just,” Rey moves back clumsily on newly-longer legs, “it’s different when you’re so big, and I’m the one...I forgot. Do you want this? I don’t want to make you.”

_ “Make me?” _

He sits up, furrowing his brow. Rey is breathing heavily, it makes his shirtless chest heave. She’s strangely comfortable shirtless here. He’s seen her be modest about this before, in this same bed, in a very different kind of vulnerable. But here she sits up, the only indication that she’s not conditioned as a woman is a slight curve forward of her shoulders, but she doesn’t clutch a sheet to her chest like she did in the days the spent cuddling together. Bare, even with less sensitive skin, she doesn’t think to cover this body like a naked woman would. 

Maybe that’s what she is like naked, as a woman, when she’s not cold and sick--

Rey is looking at him and it's then he realizes, in the most absurd way in the galaxy, that she _wants_ him.

It’s not the body, he decides, it’s the person, and he wants  _ her. _ If requires a littles bravery to move onward.

Her scavenger’s muscles are wiry, compact, but he surprises her and even himself with a shove that rolls the mass of Kylo Ren’s body onto his back. Rey is clumsier with the added weight, she blinks up at him with his black hair fanned out underneath her on the pillows.

Rey’s voice travels out of him with syrup and sinew:

_ “Fuck me, Supreme Leader.” _

He has never seen, before now, how his scar moves when his brow furrows. He straddles his thick torso with her slender legs, hips open almost painfully to fit over his width. 

The slick cunt between his legs is almost fluttering, as if sensing what’s going to happen. But perhaps that’s a response to arousal: a female body would have those reactions to the blind lust he feels.

Rey’s eyes, that are now the eyes he can control, flash gleefully as he uses her voice. Like a singer pretending to search for the right note, he pauses before soaring out,  _ “please _ fill my tender little cunt, Kylo, _ please--” _

Just to have heard it once. 

It is cheating, but he’s shuddering on top of Rey: no longer in his own body, and making the very most of it.

Arousal in a female body is strange. He feels the certain need to shut himself down as he normally would in his own feelings: afraid of something popping up. 

But where there is usually hardness, there is only slickness, emptiness. It’s all inside.

It sparks curiosity what this secrecy can blanket for a woman instead of a man: for all the times he couldn’t leave from behind a desk after he pictured taking her roughly over it until the passion...ebbed there may have been the inverse of this happening with her. Not as obvious, but he’s finding, very distracting anway.

He watches his eyes blink up at Rey’s body pinning him down. The set of his jaw the only indication it’s Rey in there. 

She doesn’t like this part of it. Using her body back against her.

_ “Stop.” _

“Kylo,” he purrs in response, testing his own name in her moan, “Kylo,  _ Kylo, Master--” _

Rey rolls him onto her back, hunching over him. A massive knee slides over the sheets when she lands and she has to quickly find her balance without crushing him. 

That will take getting used to. For him too. The smallness. She can manipulate him so easily when these forms are reversed. Not that Rey is weaker, they’re both just clumsier now and she’s rougher with his strength when Rey’s original body needs finesse to pilot. 

He appreciates her skill every time he flexes her muscles. Feeling them working. Gaining intimate knowledge. 

“Rey,” he breaks for a second when he sees her hesitate above him. “Are you alright?”

She blinks, similarly affected to have her own voice and face make a gentle overture. It’s like they don’t know how to face themselves. 

“I like...you better on top,” she admits slowly. “I feel like I’ll crush you.”

That’s a fair request. He brings hands to her skin, trying not to shudder at the thought of caressing himself this way. He wants her so much: and when placed in her position, he understands what she wouldn’t want. But he wants to make her feel good, so he touches his own body careful until Rey shivers. 

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits quietly. Giving her an out.

She cracks a smile. 

“Neither have I.”

Who in the Galaxy has been where they are now?

“No...I…”

She purses his lips. His eyes really  _ can _ go that soft, apparently, when she uses them.

“Kylo. We’re doing this for you to feel better. This doesn’t have to be perfect. I’ll be...confused enough. But I should warn you--”

Does blush really stain his cheeks so darkly when it’s him?

“I  _ really haven’t _ done this before.”

“Oh,” he feels her body shiver around his consciousness: aware of the tightness now. What he would be experiencing. Not that he can feel it, but the already aching cunt he possesses seems more aware of potential invasion. He tries to place his familiarity with his cock back into a certain sense of context, but he feels whittled away in this form, unsure of her relation to physical space. “Will it hurt?”

She bites down on a lusher lower lip. Worrying it first nervously between her teeth, then intently, like she’s kissing her new mouth out of curiosity.

"Maybe."

He still has not brought himself to kiss his own lips.

She responds to his look of fear:

“I know how to...touch myself,” she draws him back against his own body and then rolls them over for the desired position. “I don’t know how to...be the man, but it’s my...my body. And I know what I like.”

He swallows.

“Show me.”

Rey hauls him up closer. He feels so light but dazed, and she clearly feels lumbering and heavy. She then takes greedy handfuls of his ass, covered in her freckles, and raises an eyebrow to herself with what she can do with his massive hands. 

She wants to feel it when she’s in her own body. The bond makes that clear. 

Rey is sizing them up as a pairing, almost has an outsider, to view their coupling objectively. And she lusts. He can feel it. 

Kylo grinds down on the stomach muscles he built from his own sweat, for a moment cracking an eye open to appreciate--

Large hands close over slender hips.

“You just gave yourself a look-over,” the smile cracked is in the sunny attitude of hers, but it’s his teeth and an unfamiliar soft amusement that makes the imposter in his body contrast so sharply. It is strange to be laughed at by himself.

He closes those eyes again.

“I...did not.”

“You did,” she shifts his body up the mattress clumsily with a broad smile, “you were looking at yourself...you were... _ interested.” _

“I…”

He looks away and flushes bright red. 

Rey sits up, cupping his face in her hands.  _ His _ hands. Her face. This will never stop being confusing. It distracts from the level to this that they are touching like lovers: the muddled boundaries are guaranteed it is something they won’t experience as just themselves now. More safely monitored if they strip and touch together instead of sequestering themselves to separate rooms to see what stroking  _ this _ does what or how  _ that _ likes to be tickled in secret. 

“You can like yourself,” she smiles up at him, a foreign expression on that face, stroking up and down the arms braced on her chest. “Would you judge me so much for liking you?”

He goes completely still above her. 

“You...like me?”

She shrugs at his surprised tone.

“I can like you as much as you like yourself,” she says, sounding very much like Luke had when he wanted to teach a lesson.

Kylo shuts his eyes. 

Growling low in his throat, but less intimidating now from the source of Rey’s vocal chords. Kittenish, almost. 

“Does it...hurt?”

He opens his eyes too look at her. Surprise ripples across her face, and looking so deeply into his own eyes makes it harder not to look away. 

She swallows, and then absently touches her neck, now with an adam’s apple working under the skin. 

“It might?”

Brows furrow. She slides his hands up and down her wiry arms. He sighs, rocking. A slick cunt as not as easily managed as a hard cock. Rubbing against her feels right in some ways and wrong in many others. But every shy grunt that escapes his lips is full of her, her voice, and he seeks the pleasure out because her body in pleasure is so good to him. 

She leans up and they finally kiss. 

He still doesn’t like that it’s his own face looking back. But it feels good. It’s odd and wonderful and he’ll die if he never gets to feel this good just once. Conditions be damned. 

“You’d let me?” Rey draws her own chin into his massive hand, peppering kisses all over the freckled cheeks. She’s easier with her original scavenger body, more trusting of it. It’s like she leans on hers for comfort in this scenario, while he tries to avoid Kylo Ren’s body out of fear. 

He nods, rocking against her.

“Once you suggested it...it’s what this body wants. But only if you want this, for your body.”

The wry smile that he gets in return is familiar and unfamiliar: his face, familiar: that expression, through her, familiar too. But on his face: odd. Interesting. 

Rey nods his head to give him permission to be fucked in her own body.

For a brief moment he thinks of a child with his face and her expressions and the female body he inhabits is flooding with heat at the thought. He is trembling as he lifts her shirt over his head and drops it down. 

The weight of Rey’s breasts hanging down make him start and moan in the open air: maybe Rey was so nonchalant about experiencing male shirtlessness because it was not so vulnerable as this feeling was. 

He writhes above her. 

“You can touch them,” Rey permits, watching him move nervously in her body.

Kylo swallows and cups Rey’s breasts in her smaller hands. With his hands, they’re almost too clumsy, he looks at himself and fears his lumbering body would bruise her. He’d never think that, sneering over her, grabbing for her, but experiencing smallness takes his breath away when he looks at their unsubtle difference. 

“Ben,” she whispers softly, “can I stroke your cock?”

He keens and nods eagerly, and Rey pushes him back slightly, and then he feels… nothing.

Nothing but his own touches. Because he can’t feel what’s happening to his cock. Rey is stroking it in a massive fist, but the one feeling all the pleasure is her. She winces when the hand is too rough on herself. He can tell by looking. Glad, for once, to not be feeling it. 

But she gains confidence in her strokes and brings her eyes to his.

“Keep touching yourself,” she orders.

Her nipples stiffen under the fingers he brings up to stroke over them. He rocks again, open-legged, and lets out a moan that is much more indulgent than any sound that would leave his scavenger.

“Fuck me,” he pleads with her, in a whiny voice that has never left Rey's lips before, and in a haze they tumble out of clothing and tangle up their limbs and then Rey is inside of him and he is split apart in a way he never seen coming and it feels so good. 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t end up mattering who is who. He is a custodian of a body she’s quite invested in. They’re both being very careful.

Everything he’d do to her he first proves he’d have done to himself. Maybe that’s the promise that makes her accept him. This wild, unhinged suggestion. 

He winces, for once actually resenting his cock, when Rey pushes the blunt tip in between her bloody labia. 

“Does it feel strange,” he breathes out, still feeling odd about kissing his own mouth, “doing it to yourself?”

There’s a ferocity in the brow that furrows:  _ all her.  _

“I’m doing it to  _ you,” _ she rumbles back with hands closing in tight on him so he feels the squeeze to those curvy hips, and he slides down onto his own cock, sheathed in her tight body, and lets out a mindless cry of pleasure. Black hair trembles as she thrusts.

Everything he feels is like madness: but entrusted to her in that frenzy to keep him safe during it all. 

It’s almost like it can only happen like this: conditionally, with him taking the pain of first entry for her. And yet, it’s unconditional. In this state: what crosses between them is beyond just their own bodies. It’s connecting in the forms they are given. Making do. Seeking belonging. 

Connection. 

Their faces are buried in each other’s necks, Rey whimpering at the first time dealing with a cock’s sensitivity and bucking into him to satisfy a hunger like that now that she knows. 

And it doesn’t really matter anymore who does what, who takes what, who  _ is _ what. They’re just together. The cramps are held at bay by ripples of warm pleasure, the pain is a stretch but not an unbearable one because her cunt was primed with red slick for them, and they’re being as gentle with their own bodies as they are with each other. The only thing traveling the space of the bond is pleasure. He feels it, the fluttery warmth inside, and realizes he’s going to cum  _ as Rey _ and he closes his eyes and feels the rarest glimpse of divine. 

Rey is groaning heavily into his shoulder, bearing up clumsily. Her thrusts are unsure, but she’s made clever use of his fingers. He glances down to see exactly how his hands move over her skin in order to touch this way: it makes him feel like she’s coaxing sparks between his legs. 

And as he falls apart: it’s like an elastic snaps back. His control is completely gone and he opens his eyes and he’s not filled but  _ surrounded, _ and he’s not above but  _ below, _ and Rey is panting over him and looking just as lost as he feels until she tilts her head back and cries at the sensation of being filled instead of filling. 

His orgasm placed them back in their bodies. He couldn’t maintain the power to keep them in place. They’re back to who they were before they had anticipated, and poor Rey is losing her virginity in a very different way now.

Her face is crumpled up and bright red from pleasure and pain: that must have been what she was just seeing moments ago. He is at once aware of the loss of their switch: he could have been seeing Rey as this happened, all of her beauty. And yet he couldn't take it back, not how it happened, like it happened the only was it was supposed to. 

Rey, connected to herself again, rocks roughly, and he cries out, soft in her shoulder. It’s his skin, his body, and he gets to have Rey like this for the last fleeting moments when her frantic bucks tear him apart as well. 

She keens, chasing the orgasm he stole from her side of things, a slick slide that is shameless and filthy because there’s nothing about her position that he didn’t have to experience first to get her to trust him.

“Do you think you can get me off?” she murmurs, her face scrunched in frustration: the pain from her cramps and the loss of virginity dropped on her in one heavy blow. 

It’s vulnerable asking. He feels the bruise of her doubt.

He croons sympathetically, his thumb still brushing the spot she had placed it moments ago. He rubs experimentally until her lip quivers above him. 

It’s so different, when it is her. Maybe that makes him a vain and selfish creature. But he wants her body, has wanted it, and getting to touch it as himself is a luxury he will not waste when he is no longer denied. Rey hiccups as he gently circles her clit, blood covering his hand--

“Sorry,” she hisses, her cheeks flushing, “I didn’t mind because it was my blood, you know? But you--the sheets--it's--”

As if what was exchanged between their bodies had any place for shame anymore. 

He shakes his head. The switch left him slightly dizzy, or maybe that’s more to do with what they’ve been up to. But he feels clumsy and too large, stroking her clit with a graceless hand until she’s rocking against him the way he did when it was him on top in her body.

“It’s you,” he says quietly, as if that explains everything, fisting her ass in his hands the way she had done with them. She whimpers, seeming to be thankful he took the time to observe. To learn. To not waste an opportunity.  _ “It’s you.” _


End file.
